“Ferrero reintroduced Cogan to Juan as one who knew his brother Luis.

“‘But I met him only once,’ added Cogan.

“‘Once?  It is sufficient,’ assured Juan.  ’Fully sufficient.  To meet Luis once is to meet him forever.  He is always the same.  But some others—­not so.  You have been shipwrecked, yes?  You lost everything?  Ah-h, that is most hard luck, but do not despair.  I, too, was a sailor—­one time.  One time only, gracias a Dios!  My ancestors, I think, were of the land entirely.  The sea-sickness—­pir-r-h—­no, no, not for me.  But do not mind.  But pardon, senor’—­he turned to Ferrero—­’attend to me, Ferrero.  I am grieved to-day.  It is the senora again.  What matters it whether a man is a muletero, gaucho, toreador, or what?  Torellas, now, has been all—­so have I, her brother-in-law—­or a seller of hats or a member of the cabinet?  What, I ask you’—­he turned to Cogan—­’are we senor?  We are men or we are not?  So?  Very well, let us say no more, but find a cafe and have our coffee.  It has been very dusty to-day—­very.’

“Two cups of coffee, and Juan was talking to Cogan like a brother.  And he could talk like a highspeed dynamo.  ’A man—­can he be no greater than a man, I ask you, sir?  Luis, he will be glad to see you, if you came in rags—­no matter—­he is always the same, always.  But the senora—­pir-r-h.  That is it—­you have it—­Proud!  A good woman, mind’—­Juan leaned over and tapped Cogan’s arm to let him know there must be no mistake on that point—­’the best of women, but’—­he sighed—­’Luis, he is from home six months in the year, and she it is who has the training of Valera.  And once she was as like her father as—­oh, and such a heart!  But she will become—­I fear it now—­like her mother.  And her mother does not want Torellas.

“’And Torellas!  A torero, yes.  But whether a man is muletero, vaquero, or torero, what matters it?  Torellas has been all three, and I, too—­I, her brother-in-law, but what matters it?  Luis, my brother, was, oh, so poor when they married, but, my friend, I who say it—­I, his brother—­a scamp possibly, yes, but we had family.  A handsome boy was Luis, and she—­I admit it—­very beautiful and good.  But Luis—­Luis becomes wealthy.  At once the senora must have a grand son-in-law.  Torellas is a toreador,—­yes,—­but also Torellas is something more than that.  The strong arm, the quick eye, the’—­Juan slapped himself on the left breast—­’the brave heart, yes.  But more than that.  I know, senor, I who have been’—­he touched them off on succeeding finger-tips—­’gaucho in Argentina, cowboy in your country, a soldier in the Chilean war, horse-breaker—­but I have not fingers sufficient—­I who have roamed far, I know men.  And Torellas—­but you have seen him, senor?  Ah-h—­then you, too, know.  Is he not a man?  Ah-h—­and surely a man can be but a man.  And Torellas,’—­Juan pounded the table,—­’he is a man—­Pir-r’—­Juan whirled in his chair—­’Pedro, cafe—­al instante.  Tres, si, si—­tres.’